


They're Taking My Wisdom

by whitchry9



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drugged Sherlock, Gen, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, loopy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock goes to the dentist. Of course, being Sherlock, things have to be complicated. Oh and drugs. They're always fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They're Taking My Wisdom

“No John,” Sherlock said firmly, barely containing the hysteria that was evident in his voice.

“Yes Sherlock. We are going.” He stood there, looking rather intimidating for someone of his stature. “And I swear, I will drag you there if I have to.”

Sherlock glared at him.

John glared back.

Sherlock contemplated his options.

But apparently John didn't appreciate this, and grabbed Sherlock firmly around the ankles and tugged. He slid off the couch and landed firmly on his tailbone.

“OW!” he exclaimed, kicking John in the stomach with an expertly placed heel. He crumpled to the ground gasping and Sherlock rolled over to relieve the pressure on the inconsequential bone that shouldn't exist.

They lay there like that for a minute until John managed to catch his breath and speak.

“A _hell_ of a bit not good.”

“Yeah, well you broke my tailbone, _doctor,_ ” he spat.

John shook his head. “That fall wasn't enough to break it. Bruised at best. However, it sure will break if I have to drag you down every single stair.”

Sherlock grumbled, but got up gingerly, wincing exaggeratedly at every movement.

John rolled his eyes.

“Come on. Hurry up. Your appointment is at 3:30.”

Sherlock grumbled, but awkwardly followed John down the stairs and out of the flat as he hailed a cab.

 

He mumbled things to himself for the entire cab ride, and John saw the cabbie glance back at them more than once. _Oh well. Deal with it._

When they arrived, he practically had to drag Sherlock out of the cab, reminding him of what he was capable of. Sherlock's tail bone chose that moment to throb again in reminder. Sherlock wisely decided to get out on his own.

 

“Sherlock Holmes,” John told the receptionist. She nodded and gestured for them to sit down. John picked up a magazine and flipped through it, overly aware of Sherlock perched in a chair next to him, surveying the room with disdain.

“Don't,” John remarked under his breath.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Didn't.”

“Yeah, well you were going to. I can tell.”

Sherlock huffed again, tucking himself into his chair and wrapping his coat around him.

“Sherlock,” John hissed, “feet off the furniture!”

Sherlock practically growled, and it was lucky for him that a woman in purple scrubs stepped into the waiting room at that moment and called his name.

Sending him a look that clearly stated _we will talk about this later,_ John told Sherlock to go.

He pouted and crossed his arms as he stood in front of John.

“Oh what?”

“Aren't you coming?”

“Sherlock, you are a grown man and can handle this on your own.”

Sherlock eyed the lady who was growing more impatient by the second despite the smile plastered on her face.

“There are at least 7 different ways I could kill her and upwards of 20 to disable her so I could make an escape. You really want to risk that?” He raised an eyebrow, offering a challenge he knew John couldn't, wouldn't, refuse.

John practically threw the magazine back on the table.

“Little bit testy?” Sherlock muttered.

“I can still stay here,” he hissed as the reached the woman, whose smile had faded.

“It's really not necessary for you to come,” she said to John.

Sherlock waved her off. “He's my partner.”

John only fumed silently, but did enjoy the stunned speechlessness that fell over the room.

“Erm, right. Okay then.”

They followed her wordlessly down a hallway and into a tiny room filled with, in Sherlock's opinion, torture devices.

 

John looked at Sherlock, amused at the proportions of the chair that were obviously not made for people of his stature. His feet stuck off the end and his arms looked devoid of purpose. All of this was only compounded by the absolutely scathing glare that was directed at both John and the technician, miraculously, at the same time.

John was glad that she wisely chose to ignore him, moving right along.

“X-rays first Mr Holmes,” she told him, snapping on a pair of gloves and grabbing those dreaded cardboard things to bite on. “Open wide.”

Sherlock moodily glanced at her, but complied when John growled out the syllables of his name. He did attempt to bite her though. And failed.

She threw the lead apron over him rather roughly and she and John left the room. A minute later it was repeated for the other side of his mouth, and he was slightly more successful in biting her this time. His joy was quickly quenched by John's glare.

When that set was done, she went to remove the lead apron and he sharply retorted “no”.

“Sherlock,” John said in a warning tone.

“John,” Sherlock replied in an equally warning tone.

Sighing, John knew he wasn't going to get anywhere.

“Can he keep it? Might keep him calmer?”

John looked at her imploringly. Sherlock knew that look. It was the look he always used on his various girlfriends.

She relented. Of course.

“Alright. The nurse will be check in on you in a few minutes, then the doctor will be here. Alright?”

Sherlock didn't respond, but John rose to thank her.

 

As soon as she was out of earshot, John hissed at him, “Sherlock! Behave. Really, you're acting like such a child.”

Sherlock's response to that was to cross his arms and ignore him, knowing all the while it was only furthering his point. He didn't care.

 

The nurse came in and set up an IV line, explaining to Sherlock what it was for, entirely ignoring any growls or mumbling he made.

When she was finished, John motioned to her.

“Can we talk in the hall for a minute.”

She nodded.

As soon as John figured they were out of earshot of Sherlock, he began briefing the nurse in a hushed tone.

“Alright. I'm a doctor and his flatmate and I'm just going to warn you now he's the world's worst patient. So you may want to knock him entirely out to keep him from interrupting the surgery by telling the doctor that they're, I dunno, cheating or have a child out of wedlock or something.” He shook his head. “Or try to take over the surgery on his own. So, it would be in your best interest to knock him out entirely. And he has a really high drug tolerance.”

The nurse looked blankly at him.

“And what exactly is your relation to him?”

“Partner,” Sherlock called from the room. John scowled.

The nurse smiled and nodded.

“Alright then,” she said with a wink and disappeared down the hall.

Still fuming, John returned to the room Sherlock was in, looking entirely too pleased.

 

As John wisely suggested, Sherlock was entirely knocked out. As John also stated, Sherlock required an obscenely high dose to knock him out, much to the astonishment of the doctor. John only shrugged. Just another day in the life.

Although it was highly amusing to see Sherlock cling to him as he was being sedated, whispering to him something to the effect of 'they're taking my wisdom'. John did his best not to laugh.

 

The surgery took longer than expected, of course, because Sherlock Holmes could never settle for being ordinary. When it was all said and done, the doctor sent John home with a list of instructions and some pain medications that did not contain narcotics. The woman who had first seen them stared openly as they left. Because of course, Sherlock decided to respond rather poorly to this sedative, meaning he could barely walk and John was basically carting him around. And he knew what it looked like. Again, just a day in the life.

 

John carted him home, practically dragging him in and out of the cab, offering to the cabbie as way of explanation “had a few too many,” while quietly thanking that it was now late enough in the evening for that to be a valid excuse.

By the time he got Sherlock into his bed he was exhausted as well. He turned to leave when he heard something from the bed.

“Did you say something Sherlock?” he asked, returning closer to the bed so he could hear.

“John,” he muttered, eyes still closed.

“Mmm?”

“Don't let M'croft in. He'll eat the cakes.”

“Of course not,” John replied, patting Sherlock's hand for reassurance.

“...and you.”

“What?” John was rather startled by this.

“M'croft'll eatchou.”

John managed not to chuckle. Only barely.

“S'there a case?”

“No,” he said firmly. “No cases.”

“Oh... s'dull.”

He was silent for a while, and John thought he had drifted off until he remarked rather absentmindedly, “I had tea at the palace.”

John nodded.

“M'croft was Mummy,” he snickered.

John could only nod again.

“M'croft made me put on m'pants,” he murmured, suddenly sombre.

This time John couldn't hold back the laughter, and it snuck out a little bit.

Sherlock noticed him snickering and opened his eyes to glare at him.

“You're fine,” he reassured.

Sherlock didn't seem entirely content with this, but closed his eyes anyway. “But the woman didn't have to wear 'nything.”

“Right. Stay here; I'll be right back.”

Sherlock mumbled something that John couldn't make out. One of the words sounded oddly like 'hedgehog', but there would be no reason for Sherlock to even have knowledge of those. John only shook his head and popped out to the kitchen to make tea.

 

When John returned he found Sherlock holding up his hand and staring at it in amazement.

“Erm... what're you doing Sherlock?”

It took Sherlock a minute to realize John was even in the room, plus the fact that he was speaking to him.

He blinked a few times before responding, not so much looking at John as looking through him.

“D'you give me... drugs?” he whispered. He looked slightly horrified and yet mostly enthralled.

John nodded uncomfortably.

Sherlock nodded, like that explained everything. “I can see my blood,” he said in amazement.

John nodded, with a smile that clearly said _I have no clue what you're talking about but I'll pretend I do,_ which, if Sherlock was not drugged, would have picked up on immediately.

Such as it was, Sherlock only returned to staring at his hand in astonishment. John could care less if he spent his whole day like that, as long as he was quiet.

He left the room and closed the door quietly.

 

The next day, when the effects of the drugs had worn off and Sherlock had woken up, he appeared in the living room. Silently of course, as to scare John half to death. That on top of his appearance, hair flying every which way and the interesting assortment of clothing he had left on, and John was surprised he wasn't grey yet.

If it was any consolation, Sherlock looked just as perplexed as John did.

“John,” he croaked, “what happened?”

Smirking, John pondered how to go about explaining this.

“We went to the dentist. Remember that?”

Sherlock nodded vaguely.

“Then you had surgery. Remember that?”

Sherlock looked blank.

“Didn't expect you to. Probably don't remember any of yesterday really huh?”

Sherlock shook his head.

“Except...” he began, “there was something very interesting about my hand.” He held it up and looked at it, as though it might appear again.

John snorted. “Yeah. Yeah there was.”

“What?” Sherlock's head snapped up to look at John. “What?”

John shook his head. “Nothing that will make sense now. Tea?”

Sherlock nodded and returned to staring at his hand despite what John said.

Because he was Sherlock Holmes and with him, things _always_ made sense.


End file.
